BFI Film Classics Night of the Living Dead

 BFI Film Classics: Night of the Living Dead by Ben Hervey

BFI Film Classics Night of the Living Dead cover

I’ve been enjoying the BFI Film Classics series, and this entry on Night of the Living Dead by Ben Hervey presents a critical perspective on the film’s production, which films and media influenced Romero and co-writer John Russo, and the film’s legacy and impact on later horror films. Night of the Living Dead was always the scariest movie I saw when I was younger. Strangely enough, I saw it on TV, and the film captivated me. It was like nothing I had seen before, and I think that was what made it so scary for me when I was younger. This is something that Hervey discusses in the book. It’s not only the barebones production values, but also the film stock and black and white footage that lends an air of newsreel reality to the film. As Hervey notes in his analysis, Night of the Living Dead was filmed around the time of the Tet Offensive in Vietnam, and was released in 1968, the year that Nixon was re-elected, but also when MLK and RFK were assassinated. The times were ripe with revolution and violence, and in particular, the news was beginning to air more and more graphic footage from the war, letting Americans know about the brutality and violence, the death and destruction that was being wrought in Vietnam. Much of the news and social violence that was all around the late 60s factored into the film’s production. I still remember how realistic the news reports on the television seemed, and without a kind of soundtrack or anything else that tends to create a kind of pretense of film, Night of the Living Dead always seemed so realistic, even if the premise about the dead returning to life to feast on the living is absurd.

However, in addition to the production of the film, I think it was the claustrophobia and the tension between the survivors holed up in the farmhouse that always frightened me the most. I also think that this is something about the kind of dystopian and survival films that always were scary to me—how horrible people could be when there resources or options are limited. Rather than seeing people come together and find ways to solve their problems, they often become selfish and self-interested, frightened more by the zero-sum possibilities than the external threats. This definitely the case in the arguments between Harry and Ben, the two males leads who disagree about whether to stay upstairs or in the basement. Although Romero usually disregards the question of race, Hervey’s analysis leans into the fact that Ben, as a Black male lead in the film, takes charge and beats down Harry, relegating him to the basement where he eventually meets his end. Furthermore, Hervey also focuses on the end of the film and how it speaks to the racial tension in America in the late 60s, even as Romero repeatedly denied that the film had a racial message. This was also one of the more upsetting and frightening elements of the film for me…. That the hero survives the ghouls, but is eventually done in by what seems like a posse of klansmen, or at least a group of extrajudicial lawmen, who seem to be indifferent to their targets. It was upsetting to me to see Ben die, and I always felt like this was one of the main takeaways from the film, that its not always the supernatural evil that wins out, but maybe it’s the banality of evil that still exists in society.

I really enjoyed learning more about the influences of film and comic books on Romero and Russo’s story and treatment for the film. Hervey identifies some interesting cinematic precursors, including non-science fiction films that may have influenced Romero. It was interesting to read about The Tales of Hoffman and the story of Olympia, a mechanical doll who eventually is torn apart by two men. Hervey describes the scene as waving body parts similar to what the ghouls do in the field. Hervey also mentions the influence of EC Comics and stories from Tales from the Crypt that feature a kind of dark, poetic justice that often results from these stories where the end is often violent and bloody.

However, some of the other influences and themes from the film were also interesting to read an analysis of and helped me better understand what was so terrifying about the film. In particular, Hervey analyzes the introductory scene of Johnny and Barbara, brother and sister visiting their father’s grave. While Barabara is the vigilant child seeking to honor her father, Johnny seems to be dismissive of tradition, mocking the idea of the visit and playing in the cemetery. Eventually Johnny is attacked by a ghoul and becomes one, but Barbara, shocked at the loss of her brother, escapes to the farmhouse, where she encounters the other survivors. Hervey suggests that part of the film was about the death of traditions and generational differences. It definitely seems like Night of the Living Dead could herald these generational shifts since it was such a transgressive film for the time, implying that the ghouls were eating human flesh and that really the dead were meaningless and harmful, pursuing us until we violently seek their destruction. This idea also seems apparent in one of the most shocking scenes when Karen, Harry and Helen’s daughter who was bitten by a ghoul, eventually kills and eats them. I remember being shocked at watching a child violently stab and eat her parents. Although Karen is a ghoul, her actions towards her parents suggest the kind of violence needed to destroy the previous generations and traditions. While Johnny seems to mock the idea of honoring the past, he eventually succumbs to the ghouls, encountering his sister and seeking to make her one of them. With all of the issues in society at the time, with all of the violence and turbulence, it seems like an idea that each generation tries to consume its own. Hervey mentioned that idea from mythology and artwork like Goya’s famous painting of Saturn devouring his children. It’s driven by fear and a lack of understanding, but also a kind of wish to maintain things as they are—to seek out a placid state where nothing really happens and the status quo is maintained. This lack of development, a kind of stasis, will eventually lead to another kind of death as well through a lack of progress and growth. Hervey’s book definitely had me consider other subtexts of the film that I hadn’t thought of previously, while also helping me to identify some of the moments that terrified me as a child when I first encountered this film. Furthermore, I’ve read a few other books about some of Romero’s other films, especially Dawn of the Dead, his masterpiece. I’ve also recently revisited some of these films, along with The Crazies, which was another film I watched when I was younger and found it to be completely terrifying. Throughout these films, Romero also emphasizes the idea of control and the media, and how we seek out the news and media to inform us, but maybe they don’t always give us the true story or maybe they end up inducing more hysteria and fear. This happens throughout Night, Dawn, and The Crazies, where the government seems to be hiding or not revealing all of the details about these events that are turning people abnormal. This notion of distrust and a lack of transparency in information is relevant today, and maybe that is another reason why Romero’s films remain so powerful and shocking even after nearly 60 years. I really enjoyed Hervey’s detailed research and analysis of Night of the Living Dead, reminding me of how important and terrifying this film is.

Challenging our Assumptions about Teaching and Schooling in Ranita Ray's Slow Violence

 Slow Violence: Confronting Dark Truths in the American Classroom by Ranita Ray

Slow Violence book cover

Author and Scholar Ranita Ray

Thank you to St. Martin’s Press and NetGalley for sharing this powerful and discomforting book about education, Slow Violence: Confronting Dark Truths in the American Classroom. Ranita Ray, a sociologist, spends several years following students in Las Vegas schools as they interact with their teachers and gradually experience the kind of institutional violence and power differentials that their teachers apply seemingly to harm rather than help them. I typically enjoy reading books about education, even ones that often challenge our assumptions and understanding of the purpose of schools, such as Eve Ewing’s excellent Original Sins, Aaron Kupchik’s insightful Suspended Education, and Betina Love’s powerful Punished for Dreaming, to name a few recent books. Ray’s book would fall into a similar category of a critical examination of policies and practices that inhibit student success, while also highlighting the kinds of power differentials teachers often wield and their seeming indifference to make change and begin to advocate for their students. Ray writes in her conclusion that “it is difficult for many of us to challenge the perception of universal altruism among teachers,” and I felt this kind of dissonance while reading the book. Not only did her observations and conclusions make me upset, but they also caused me to reflect on my own teaching experiences and those I’ve observed, thinking back to when either I witnessed or engaged in these types of behaviors that contributed to the slow violence that students experience. Although I cannot say that this kind of behavior has never happened, I will admit that after some experience teaching and working with student populations much different from my own background, I became more flexible and understanding in my teaching and approach to accommodations in the classroom. Furthermore, I’ve also been lucky to work with other like-minded colleagues who shared similar educational philosophies and approaches that attempted to be student-centered and supportive of student learning. Nevertheless, I’ve witnessed instances of the kind of slow violence that Ray explains from both teachers and administrators, and not just towards students, but towards teachers and staff who were deemed as not team players or not on board to help students. Although I question some of the generalizability of Ray’s conclusions based on her work in 2 schools in Las Vegas, I can agree that often power, policies, and pedagogy work against students whose backgrounds may be culturally incongruent with teachers and administrators. Nevertheless, there are steps and strategies that schools and teacher education programs can take to help strengthen the teaching corps and better prepare them for the diverse student bodies they will work with in American schools. I know from my teacher education, I was underprepared to work with the kinds of diverse populations in many American schools, and often fell into the apprenticeship of observation, relying on teaching the way I was taught, which is not appropriate for students from different generations and cultures. It wasn’t until I worked with other teachers, observed their classes, and reached out for help about either student issues or teaching practices that I was able to develop some more engaging practices that focused more on student learning and helping to make students feel like they had a say in their learning in our classes.

However, I’m digressing, and Ray’s book offers much to critique and question in her ethnography of these students’ experiences. Ray begins explaining her methods for her research, which took place between 2017 and 2020, right before the pandemic, and her definition of slow violence, which reflects the kind of psychological and emotional violence over physical violence. She also includes an important caveat that the conclusions she drew were based on her observations, conversations, and scholarly knowledge. In the prologue, Ray provides some background about her own experience as a multilingual learner who was threatened and punished for speaking her mother tongue in school. It’s this memory that enables Ray to feel more empathy and understanding for the students she observes than her own teacher, having experienced that kind of power differential and disregard for her identity, interests, and culture that the students at Ribbon Elementary and Doreena Middle School experienced with their teachers and administrators. Although the teachers are presented as seemingly progressive and advocates for diversity and student success, as the school year progresses, we learn, through Ray’s observations, that their motives and actions are inconsistent with what we would think about teachers. Ray offers some further insight into understanding these teachers, noting that for some of them, teaching was a second or third career option, and not something that always took precedence in their future plans. This point about the teaching profession is also an important consideration since there is always a need for qualified teachers, and Ray frequently stresses about the lack of diversity in the teaching corps, which is primarily comprised of white women and men who frequently teach students whose ethnicities, cultures, languages, and backgrounds are different from their own. These differences may allow for biases and assumptions to influence instructional decisions, grades, and even future opportunities for learning. Ray’s observations of the teachers show how they frequently let their assumptions about the students and their families influence the type of work they received and how they interpreted the students’ achievement or motivation in class. Although Ray frequently notes how the school is under-resourced, with as many as 40 students in a classroom and limited access to paraprofessionals and other in class aides, it also seems like the nature of teaching has changed along with the expectations about the roles that teachers are expected to play in students’ lives. While I was shocked to read about some of the assumptions that teachers made about the lives of their students, it also seemed like some of the teachers were unprepared or had no background to possibly support the kinds of challenges that some of their students experienced. For example, one student who is featured as a star student in the class, lost her 2 month old brother, and her disengagement and withdrawal from class and socialization seemed swift and in need of some kind of intervention. Although her teachers reached out, I was surprised that the school didn’t do too much more for her after this devastating loss. Furthermore, I’m not sure how many teachers are able to navigate and support students through this kind of grief. As a teacher who has experienced loss, I think that I can be empathetic to students who also experience loss. However, it would seem like the school or even counselors within the district might offer some support for teachers to then support students. I worked in a school where we experienced the loss of students in close succession, and we basically stopped everything to reach out to students (and other colleagues) and make sure that everyone’s emotions were considered. It just made me think about how teachers do more than just teach—they are often expected to emotionally support students, interpret their feelings, and consider their changes, socially, emotionally, academically, and identity-wise. Although some may view teachers as “instructors”, the work of a teacher is much more complex and demanding, and often requires some skills and attributes that are not always the focus of teacher education and professional development. Beyond this kind of emotional support, teachers are also expected to be something like a technician, where they need to assess students, examine their results, and then devise strategies and supports for their students, especially those who are at opposite ends of the learning curve. I’m not sure how that is possible with 40 students who require varying levels of support and enrichment, but this is part of the new reality for teachers and their work. Regardless, Ray’s observations also made me wonder what happened in the teacher meetings for the 4^th and 5^th grade teams that she followed. Ray seems privy to some of the teacher conversations in the lounge, where the teachers engaged in disparaging the parents and families of their students, but I wondered whether there was any kind of shared strategies and data analysis that was happening across the teams.

Ray’s observations also made me question the administrators at these schools. In Ribbon, Dr. Geertz seemed almost oblivious to the issues occurring within the classrooms. One of the only male and Black teachers in the school left his 5^th grade class after being scrutinized for his harsh treatment of female students. Although I was wincing at the ways in which he responded to and disciplined some of the female students, I also saw this as maybe an opportunity for some professional goals and either the principal or another teacher coach to come in and support this teacher with some strategies and measurable goals for improving his interactions with his students. Although I know that teacher observations do not always happen in schools, I was surprised by how independent and unsupported these teachers were. It seemed like the schools were confirming that assumption that teaching is a isolating job, where teachers shut their doors and just work with their students. Ray also explained that she felt conflicted about not intervening when she witnessed the slow violence in the classes she observed, and as a researcher, she’s correct not to step in. Not only would it influence her research conclusions and potentially damage her relationship with these teachers, but as an outside observer who was in the school to observe the students, I’m not sure that the teachers would have accepted her observations or suggestions. If anything, it seemed like the entire culture of the school was deviating from the messages and slogans posted around the campus. I wondered whether the school leadership was aware of this, and whether they participated this kind of slow violence through their own assumptions as well.

Ray’s observations are descriptive and detailed, and she provides some useful connection to research when necessary, which helps to situate and understand the behaviors and consequences we read about in the book. I really appreciated this aspect of her scholarship and analysis, since it allowed readers to see that much of what we are reading about in this school is not necessarily an isolated incident, but is potentially happening in other schools and to other students in the US. Still, I was shocked to see how some of the teachers didn’t really understand basic elements of teaching or connecting with their students. For example, in 5^th grade, the teacher planned a unit around Civil Rights in the 1960s, reading a recent book that takes place in Alabama in the 1960s. The students made their own connections with the Colin Kaepernick and other events in 2017, but the teacher seemed to disparage these astute connections the students were making. Rather than listening and questioning them to explain their connections further, she dismissed their connections. It was really unclear what the focus of the lesson was, and whether the students were working on reading skills, history, or what the objectives for the lessons were. I can only imagine how confused the students must have felt. I wondered whether this teacher knew about learning objectives and how to structure a lesson. Furthermore, I was shocked to read about how many teachers used candy to motivate students. This 5^th grade teacher apparently kept a candy stash and used candy as a reward, which I’ve always viewed as something teachers should not do. Not only are extrinsic rewards like this something that will eventually demotivate students (or make performance contingent on these kinds of rewards), but also giving sugar to students seems unhealthy. The schools I’ve worked in along with my kids’ schools never allowed candy for students, but it seemed like a regular practice for these schools. Some 5^th grade students organized a distraction to snatch some of the candy from the teacher, and when she found out she basically held it against these students for the rest of the year, assuming that they were criminals. Another teacher in the middle school seemingly gave candy to students no matter what they did, even when they disobeyed him or gave incorrect or off-task responses. I just wondered about what message he was offering for his students. It was incredibly shocking to read about this kind of reward for academic work. Why not offer some praise or positive feedback? Why not try to acknowledge their students’ efforts by noting what they did well?

Also of concern was the kind of deficit approach that many of the teachers took about their students that seemed to be informed by their biases and assumptions and was further fed by their interactions and gossiping in the teachers’ lounge. I learned pretty early in my teaching career that the lounge was not a fun place to be, and that it was often a site of complaints and commiserating rather than any kind of productive work. I think this could be true of much work, not just education. However, it’s more personal and emotional since teaching is such an emotional and time investment. However, I think I’ve always learned that it’s important to identify what students bring to the classroom and not what they are lacking. Identify their strengths and interests, utilize their experiences and skills, rather than harping on what they are missing. It’s a simple lesson that any teacher education program should emphasize for their pre-service teachers—do not take the deficit approach. Nevertheless, it seemed like these teachers all assumed that the students lived in poverty, had nothing, and the parents were often standing in the way of progress (although they never offered any examples or evidence). Parents who were interested in their students’ learning were chastised for being too involved, while other parents who maybe worked multiple jobs or had other responsibilities like child or elder care were deemed indifferent to their children. There were assumptions running wild, and while it is natural to want to draw conclusions and make attributions about reasons for involvement or lack thereof, again, this seemed like a place where the administration should step in and offer suggestions and methods for involving more parents in a proactive way, whether it is through hosting parent/child activities, or finding ways for parents to be involved in the class (which there were). Regardless, I was shocked to read about how much the teachers assumed the students were in trauma, and that this trauma was the main reason why students were not succeeding or achieving. Mr. B, the 6^th grade teacher, seemed to be a self-appointed trauma expert (he wrote his thesis on student trauma), and based on Ray’s observations, appeared to lower expectations for students due to their collective trauma. Furthermore, the principal also acknowledged students’ trauma and how it influenced their learning. This led to both a humorous and terrifying assembly in 6^th grade where I didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe at the message and assumptions that kids are bad whose friends will eventually lead them to destruction. Yet all of the teachers seemed amazed at the message.

As Ray notes, this is not an easy book to read mainly because it challenges our own assumptions and cherished beliefs about teachers and the work they do. While I’ve known some teachers who engage in this kind of slow violence, thankfully, I’ve known and worked in schools that tend to be more supportive of both their students and teachers. That’s not to say that this kind of slow violence doesn’t happen. I agree with Ray’s conclusions about the need to diversify the teaching corps and prevent the kind of slow violence she witnessed. No student should experience that kind of bias and incongruity in their learning. However, I couldn’t help but question some of the conclusions about the teachers’ own motivations in this book, especially since Ray drew these conclusions based on observations and overheard conversations and not necessarily based on interviews with the teachers or asking about their methods or instruction. Furthermore, it didn’t seem like she interviewed students to ask about their own experiences with learning or school either. I wonder if she may have reached some different conclusions about her observations if these data were included in the analysis. In her “Afterword”, Ray notes that there is a difference between schooling and education. This distinction reminded me of Ewing’s book in particular in that schools in the 20^th century were often sites of assimilation and control, a means to shape, condition, and train future workers for the kind of manual labor that was needed in the early 20^th century. As society and the economy began to change, other’s views and philosophies about school also shifted, with some viewing education as the potential for a social equalizer. Although we are still a long way off from making this aspiration a reality, it’s still possible to support this idea and reinforce it with pre- and in-service teachers. While reform has taken education down some wrong paths, I agree with Ray’s idea that we need to “insist on a more honest conversation about the stark power differential between teachers and students”, and especially those “power relations that oppress Black, brown immigrant and trans people coincide with this fact that teachers have absolute authority inside the classroom and students…have close to none.” While it may not completely address the entirety of this situation, providing more student-centered approaches to learning that also engage students in positions of leadership and responsibility within the classroom are a way to start. Ensuring that teacher education programs, whether they are for undergraduates or alternate route candidates, stress these kinds of democratic approaches to education and acknowledge these power differentials is a good place to start. Furthermore, ensuring that teachers are supported and have regular observations and quality professional development that focuses on culturally congruent teaching strategies and methods is another way to support teachers in supporting their students. While this is challenging and at times disturbing book, it is a necessary and important read, especially for educators, but also for the general public. As Ray explains in both her introduction and afterword, there are attacks against teachers from both the right and the left today. We frequently hear stories about teachers who engage in inappropriate lessons about slavery or immigration, often bringing harm to students. When I was in college studying to be a teacher, I remember watching the “Blue Eye/Brown Eye” experiment as a method to teach about discrimination, but also questioning what kind of harm this brought to students, some of whom attacked and harassed their classmates. Although there were good intentions to teach about discrimination from an experiential perspective, it brought harm to the students. Teachers should also be more aware of their methods and think more about what their students will learn from these activities and assignments, to fully consider the implications and consequences of their lessons. Being a reflective practitioner should be a prerequisite for teaching, and schools need to do more to reinforce this essential aspect of teaching. Nevertheless, Ray’s book challenged my assumptions and made me think and reflect about my own experiences as both a learner and a teacher. I recommend this book even though it is a challenging, difficult, and at times upsetting read. 

BFI Film Classics The Exorcist by Mark Kermode

 BFI Film Classics The Exorcist 

by Mark Kermode

BFI Film Classics The Exorcist cover

Author and film critic Mark Kermode

I was very excited to read this BFI Modern Classics about The Exorcist, one of my favorite films of all time. Furthermore, in other books I’ve read about the film version of The Exorcist, Mark Kermode is often cited as the authority on this film. The book doesn’t disappoint as it explores the production of the film, as well examining key decisions that both Blatty and Freidkin made in the script, direction, and editing of the film, and how this potentially altered the meaning and themes of the film. Kermode starts the book, though, exploring some of the background from the true story of a boy who underwent an exorcism in the 1940s, and how this story inspired William Peter Blatty, a young screenwriter in the 1960s.

One of the best parts of the book is in Chapter 2 where Kermode explores the beginning of The Exorcist, which takes place in Iraq, and involves the discovery of a Christian medal in an ancient tomb that pre-dates Christianity. I’ve always loved this opening scene since there isn’t really any dialogue, but a series of images that viewers are left to assemble and assign meaning to. What I didn’t realize, though, was that some of the sounds are heard again later in the film when Father Merrin is battling the demon in Regan. The tone of this part is so menacing, especially when the dogs fight. Kermode also notes the visual cues that appear again, from the statue of Pazuzu to the cataract in a man’s eye, which appears like the whites of Regan’s eyes when she is possessed. It also helps to show that this battle between good and evil, between old and new, is something that is continuous and has spanned generations and many different eras in time.

From there Kermode moves the analysis to Georgetown, where the actress Chris MacNeil is working on a new film that seems to be about campus protests, again highlighting the kind of battle between older generations and younger generations, who seemingly have different values and ideas about achieving their goals. This was something I had previously read about in other books about the film, but it makes sense that part of what was so appealing and frightening for adults watching The Exorcist was that it was about teenage rebellion, about growing and changing, and the challenges that these kinds of changes have on the relationships between parents and kids. Kermode doesn’t necessarily frame the analysis this way, looking at it more from generational differences, but it is interesting to consider that element of it, even if Regan represents extreme changes. In fact, some of the doctors in the film who are looking for an organic or physiological explanation for Regan’s behavior changes seem to think that her outbursts are related to mental or physical disorders possibly occurring before puberty. While Chris begins to experience these challenges with Regan, Father Damien Karras, a young Jesuit priest in Georgetown, is also struggling with relationship with his mother, who lives in New York and requires support for her ailing health. Karras also seems to struggle with his faith, wondering whether he still believes in God, as he sees suffering all around him. Again, Kermode notes some of the visual cues that Friedkin emphasizes and returns to throughout the film, especially in his analysis of Karras’s dream after his mother passes away. Again, I’ve always thought that these kind of surreal montages in the film are what distinguishes it from other films. It’s an incredible way of telling the story and conveying emotion and empathy in viewers.

In addition to analyzing the film choices from Blatty and Friedkin, Kermode also explores the innovative special and make-up effects that made so many people frightened and fascinated with The Exorcist. It was really cool to find out more about how some of the effects were pulled off, although it’s sad to read about the injuries that Linda Blair and Ellen Burstyn sustained on the set. Furthermore, we learned about the stunt double and voice actor who weren’t credited for their work initially. If you don’t know about this story, it’s an interesting piece of trivia for the film, especially since the stunt double was the one who wore the Captain Howdy makeup in which there are some jump cuts to show her face randomly in the film. Kermode also mentions a few of the “cursed” elements of the film, like the injuries that the actors sustained, as well as the deaths of some of the other actors shortly after, and the set burning at one point that delayed shooting. However, what I really enjoyed reading about what the attempts to recut the film in the late 90s, and how Friedkin’s decision to re-evaluate the themes and meaning of the film led him to seek out footage in the Warner Brothers vaults and recut the film to add in different scenes. This included the infamous spider walk scene that apparently couldn’t be included in the film until digital editing was available to remove the appearance of the wires. Kermode also interviews the effect coordinator who devised the wire harness that allowed for the spider walk. It was really amazing to learn more about the decisions that went into editing the film, and about how ordering certain scenes and conversations altered meaning and understanding of the plot points. Interestingly, in the original theatrical cut, Regan is never prescribed pills, but they are mentioned at some point prior to the exorcism. As Kermode explains Friedkin’s directing skills prevented many viewers from catching this flaw. The story and pace of the film moved so well with the action that people didn’t really notice. It wasn’t until the recut of the film in 1999 where they incorporated the doctor’s prescription in. I remember seeing that version in the theater, and the medical scenes are almost more horrifying than the exorcism itself. The cold, clinical setting of the hospital paired with the industrial soundtrack of the diagnostic machines added to an anxious feeling as we, like Chris, witness Regan suffering to find out how to end her suffering. In any event, it was amazing to read more about the decisions to re-cut the film, and the challenges that Friedkin faced in finding soundtracks and footage to include in the new version. I also didn’t realize that there were montages of Regan and Chris exploring DC on their own, and as Kermode explained, these were not included because there were no audio tracks for this scene. Regardless, I loved the 1999 version and seeing it on the big screen was so exciting. Reading this book is also exciting and fascinating. Not only did I gain a deeper insight into elements of the film, but I also loved learning more about the decisions and choices that went into making the film, whether it involved editing decisions, soundtracks, or characters and dialogue. It was amazing to read about all of these different aspects of The Exorcist and how they can impact the meaning and themes of the film. Highly recommended. 

God's Lonely Man: Analyzing Taxi Driver in BFI Film Classics by Amy Taubin

 BFI Film Classic Taxi Driver by Amy Taubin

BFI Film Classic Taxi Driver cover

Author and critic Amy Taubin

Taxi Driver is a powerful character study about “God’s Lonely Man”, written by Paul Schrader and directed by Martin Scorsese. There was a period of time when I watched this film frequently, which looking back, probably wasn’t the best use of my time. However, I was so riveted by Travis’s descent into madness, and how his inability to connect with others had him find meaning in other ways, particularly through violence. Amy Taubin’s critical study of this 1970s classic was great to read if you are a fan of this film. She provides some background about Schrader’s influences on the screenplay, and it was fascinating to see how existential works like Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground and Sartre’s Nausea were influential developing Travis Bickle. However, it was also the story of Arthur Bremer, the man who attempted to assassinate George Wallace in 1972, and his diary, which focuses on his loneliness, isolation and failed attempts at connection and intimacy, that further inspired Schrader’s screenplay. Taubin also provides further context for the setting of the film- NYC in the 1970s, that was dealing with recession and economic problems, as well as America’s withdrawal from Vietnam. All of these factors fed Travis’s sense of isolation and loneliness, and prompted him to use his insomnia as a means of making money and finding connections as a taxi driver. I wasn’t previously aware of Bremer’s role in influencing the script, but as Taubin notes and many are aware, the film was also an inspiration for a later assassination attempt. It’s interesting to read some of these factors that went into creating the character of Travis since there continues to be similar loneliness and isolation people experience. These feelings were heightened by COVID and quarantining, but I also wondered how much social media and our lives online are contributing to this sense of isolation. Although Taubin’s book doesn’t address these kinds of questions, she does take a modern lens to looking at the film and examining Travis’s character through race, class, and gender. As Taubin notes, Taxi Driver, following in the footsteps of other vigilante films of the 70s, may have been an attempt to reclaim the urban landscape from Blaxspoitation films. She also notes that racism is one of the problems that Taxi Driver never directly addresses, providing examples of how seems distant from the other drivers at the diner, but sits furthest from Charlie T., the only Black cab driver. From here, Taubin explores the debt Taxi Driver owes to The Searchers, the 50s John Ford western that pits John Wayne’s Ethan, a returning Civil War veteran, against the Comanche chief who has taken one of his relatives. Although I knew this film influenced Star Wars, I hadn’t realized it’s influence on Taxi Driver, and it’s interesting to think about how Taxi Driver is kind of like an urban western, where the hero’s actions and motivations are not always clearly altruistic or good. Although Taubin explains that Travis’s mohawk was influenced by Vietnam special forces soldiers who were out on lethal missions, I wonder if there was some connection to the Searchers and the warrior ethos of the Comanche. Although Travis somewhat identifies with Ethan’s character as someone who is seeking to rescue a woman, it might also speak to Travis’s identity diffusion and his inability to clearly define himself in the modern world.

In addition to issues of race, Taubin’s analysis also focuses on class and gender, specifically how Travis’s loneliness affects his search for love and connection. During his night shift driving, he encounters lovers and prostitutes, while also exploring the rough terrain of 42^nd Street’s theaters. Taubin notes that many of these scenes capture Travis alone in the frame, or rather on the street near people, but seemingly isolated and distant from them as the center of the shot. It isn’t until Travis encounters Betsy, a volunteer working on the campaign for Palantine, a presidential candidate. Despite coming from different backgrounds and seeming to share no real interests, Betsy agrees to a date with Travis that goes horribly wrong. Once again, we see Travis’s inability to clearly define himself, as he identifies immediately with Palantine while not really knowing anything about him. It’s merely to appeal to Betsy. As Taubin notes, Travis’s attempts to further connect with Betsy, eventually leading him to consider assassinating Palantine, ostensibly to gain Betsy’s attention, similar to Bremer’s attempt to assassinate Wallace (and later Brinkley’s attempted assassination). When Travis’s half-hearted attempt fails, he finds further purpose in another chance encounter with a girl, Iris, whose pimp Sport Taubin presents as a stand-in for Chief Scar in The Searchers. This was also fascinating to read as Taubin not only notes the similarities between Ethan’s quest for Debbie and Travis’s obsession with saving Iris from Sport, but also in noting that Iris and Sport are kind of like the remnants of the hippies, the failed attempts at love and connection that gradually degenerated and brought things to the mid 70s NYC. It was interesting too to see the parallels in Travis finding meaning and identity through women. His inability to connect with them and find appropriate ways of communicating gradually leads to his further isolation and resorting to violence as a means of gaining attention. Throughout the exploration of the story, Taubin also analyzes various aspects of the film and characters, exploring how they emphasize the themes of loneliness, isolation, and the kind of violence that occurs throughout the film. I absolutely loved reading this analysis as it provided me with a new way to consider this excellent film. It’s made me want to revisit this film, since it’s been some time since I’ve seen it. I also appreciated how thinking about the film in today’s world makes some of the issues and concerns that Taxi Driver raises even more important and resonant. I’m thoroughly enjoying reading these BFI Film analyses, and this one has been particularly enlightening and thoughtful in its consideration of Taxi Driver.   

BFI Film Classics The Manchurian Candidate

 BFI Film Classics The Manchurian Candidate by Greil Marcus

BFI Film Classic The Manchurian Candidate cover

Author and Critic Greil Marcus

I recently read David M. Stewart’s excellent Demme biography There’s No Going Back, and Demme remade The Manchurian Candidate in the early 2000s, post-9/11 in a world that had not quite yet realized the full fever dream of online conspiracies. While there were conspiracies about 9/11, the so-called weapons of mass destruction, and even the 2000 election, they hadn’t yet spread wild over the internet, so it was interesting to see Demme re-imagine this classic film for a new generation grappling with its own wars, both physical and ideological. I was really excited to find this BFI Modern Classics on the 1962 version of the Manchurian Candidate written by one of my favorite critics, Greil Marcus. I always enjoy Marcus’s views and perspectives on music, history, culture, and art, and this book presents an interesting take on the history of the film in both its original context and a modern context. What I also found interesting was Marcus’s own personal perspective on this film.

Marcus presents a linear analysis of the film’s plot, but seemingly moves between time, presenting the meaning of the film in the 50s and its Cold War anti-communist ideologies, in the 1960s, released a year before Kennedy’s assassination, and in the 2000 in a post-9/11 world. I found this approach to be fascinating since the film is both preposterous, as Marcus notes, but contains elements of real individuals and events like Senator Iselin, who is modeled after Joseph McCarthy. Furthermore, Marcus notes how similar the imagery of the film is to The Twilight Zone, a show that had just become popular for its presentation of an uncanny simulacrum of our world. In particular, he uses the dream sequences that are shared among different members of Marco and Shaw’s platoon, where the envision a Ladies Garden Club meeting in New Jersey, but really it is a meeting of communist leaders discussing their plans for mind control and assassination. As Marcus notes, the scene slips between the imagined and the real without any kind of clear indication for viewers, something that is unique in its portrayal. It is a rather disorienting scene, but one that is also shocking and innovative.

Like any Marcus deep dive into a work of art, this book contains considerable reflection on the film’s relationship with real life events, in particular assassinations that followed in the years after the film’s release. I hadn’t realized how close in proximity this film was to Kennedy’s assassination, which explains why it was not available for 25 years, until 1988. In Chapter 4, Marcus explores how the term Manchurian Candidate has become a part of the political and conspiratorial vocabulary, especially with all of the political and celebrity assassinations in the years following the film’s release. Marcus is not indicating any kind of causation, but rather looking at the film’s ideas about conspiracy and machinations, and how people have used fiction to explain or make up the reality that is often unexplained or mysterious. In particular, the book and film play on fears from the 50s of the Red Scare, and I found this interesting in today’s climate, and how often people will exploit fear, resentment, and anger, primal emotions, to gain followers or votes. It’s interesting to reconsider this film now when the speed of information is often too quick to verify or find out what is true.

Marcus is always a great critic whose keen insight and ability to creatively contextualize a work both for its time period and modern times enables readers to gain a unique perspective on films, music, and literature. I really enjoyed this book, especially after watching The Manchurian Candidate. It helped me understand the film better and find deeper meaning in the symbols and shots throughout the film. Highly recommended. 

BFI's Modern Classics Analyzes Silence of the Lambs

 BFI Modern Classics: Silence of the Lambs by Yvonne Tasker

BFI Modern Classics Silence Of the Lambs

Author and scholar Yvonne Tasker

This was the first BFI Modern Classics book I’ve read, and I decided to read Tasker’s Silence of the Lambs analysis after recently reading David M. Stewart’s excellent Demme biography There’s No Going Back. I haven’t watched Silence of the Lambs for some time, but I did read and watch Red Dragon and Manhunter about 2 summers ago, so it seemed like a good time to revisit this classic film and read up on some analysis of the film. In re-watching the film after reading Stewart’s book, I was struck by all of the amazing cinematography in the film, as well as the incredible editing that leads to a brisk and engaging pace towards the end of the film. This is truly one of the best films of the 90s and arguably one of the best horror/thriller films. Rewatching the film also made me appreciate Tasker’s analysis of the film’s themes, symbols, and groundbreaking story at the time. Furthermore, Tasker analyzes not just the film, but contrasts it with the book to show what elements were either left out, emphasized, or adjusted for the purpose of the film. Tasker walks through the film’s chronology, but also emphasizes certain elements in each chapter. Chapter 1 examines the symbolic nature of the film, looking at birds, lambs, and butterflies. I didn’t even think about Starling’s name, and how that represents the idea of a bird, something that is sometimes free to roam, but at other times hunted or in a cage. The lamb and butterfly symbolism are a little more apparent, but Tasker provides a useful and insightful analysis in understanding how these symbols function in the overall narrative and themes of the film, as well as how the visual imagery of the film helps to further highlight and emphasize the meaning.

Chapter 2 was particularly interesting as Tasker notes how this film helped to launch the female investigator films that often copied from Silence of the Lambs. While the book was written in the early 2000s, and includes films like Copycat and The Cell, I also thought about Longlegs, which not only takes place around the same time as Silence of the Lambs, but shared a similar visual aesthetic with the film. One of the other elements of Silence that stood out to me on this re-watch was how much Starling was scrutinized as a woman, not just as a cadet. There are several scenes in the film where Demme uses an eye-line match to have the audience experience men staring at her with questioning or skeptical eyes. I was amazed by how many close-up and eye-line match shots there are throughout the film, which enabled viewers to build a kind of empathy and understanding with Starling.

Chapter 4 was also interesting in that it presented the dichotomy between the settings for the film, shifting between the modernist settings like the FBI offices and the more gothic settings like Lecter’s cells and Gumb’s (Buffalo Bill) home. Tasker notes the idea of female gothic, and how gothic settings are often presented as places of disturbances and disorientation, but in both gothic settings, there are paths to understanding or further journeys. Tasker notes the stairs that lead to an undisclosed location in Lecter’s basement cell, as well as the labyrinth like arrangement of Bill’s basement. Both places push Starling to uncomfortable and even dangerous interactions, but enable her to “look deep within” to put clues together and solve the mystery. The last chapter focuses on touch and skin, which I was also glad to read since I noticed that both Lecter and Director Crawford touch Starling’s hand, while the camera focuses a closeup on these interactions. Tasker notes the psychoanalytic qualities of these interactions, and how they lead back to Starling’s memories of her father, and how Lecter and Crawford serve as different types of father figures for her.

In addition to the thoughtful and detailed analysis of the film, the book features amazing color photos from the film that highlight some of the shots, symbols and scenes that Tasker references in her analysis. This was also helpful in understanding her analysis and looking at some of the amazing images from the film. I really enjoyed reading this analysis, and I’m looking forward to reading a few other of these BFI Modern Classics from my library. This is a great, short selection to read if you are a fan of films, and especially if you want to explore some interesting and thoughtful interpretations of this amazing film.  

Documenting the Creation of an Iconic Album: Tonight in Jungleland by Peter Ames Carlin

 Tonight in Jungleland: The Making of Born to Run by Peter Ames Carlin

Tonight in Jungleland book cover

Many thanks to Doubleday Books and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Peter Ames Carlin’s detailed and compelling book Tonight in Jungleland: The Making of Born to Run. I recently read Carlin’s The Name of This Band is R.E.M., and thoroughly enjoyed how comprehensive that book was in exploring the origins and career of a band that spanned different eras in music. I also knew that Carlin previously wrote a biography of Springsteen, so it seemed like he is not only an excellent music journalist, but also is knowledgeable about the subject. What was different was that rather than covering the entirety of this musician’s career, he had to narrow the focus and analyze the factors and events that led to the creation of one of Springsteen’s most heralded albums, Born to Run. Carlin explains these differences in the “Acknowledgement” section when he writes “covering the expanse of Bruce’s life and career hadn’t allowed for the sort of close attention to any particular album that this project required. So there was still a lot to learn, and quite a bit of new information to chase down and digest. Doing this required the cooperation, help and patience of many people.” That is one of the great aspects of this book in that many of the key players collaborated with Carlin on this book, providing further insights into the struggles, barriers, and doubts that arose during the creation of this album. This was also a noticeable difference from his R.E.M. book, where the band members did not participate in the book (although it is also a great read). Furthermore, the book arrives just in time for the 50^th anniversary of this album, and while this album and the song “Born to Run” in particular have become important for rock and roll, Carlin emphasizes that “Every work of art is the product of someone’s extraordinary effort. But some projects still feel surrounded by at least some measures of grace,” and this book helps to explore the unique circumstances that contributed to making this album special and helping make Springsteen and the E Street Band such an iconic American rock band.

Although I’m not huge Springsteen fan, I appreciate his work, and hadn’t realized how challenging it was to create this album. Carlin’s book spends most of the book exploring the musical and business aspect that led to this album, and doesn’t spend that much time exploring the personal influences of Springsteen’s life, although some of the chapters focus on his family and growing up in Freehold. I was amazed to learn that Springsteen faced limited support from his record label in creating Born to Run since his previous two albums were critically praised, but did not receive much commercial attention and had limited sales. Furthermore, Carlin provides some historical context about the early to mid-1970s both across the nation and in areas in Jersey like Asbury Park, where Springsteen and his band were gigging and practicing. It’s important to consider in that the nation was facing the Watergate Scandal and economic uncertainties and strains with events like the oil embargo. This contextualization helps to paint the kind of dire and hopeless situation that many Americans experienced, which also might one of the reasons that Springsteen’s Born to Run resonated with many people, as he often championed downtrodden characters who were fighting their ways out of desolate and hopeless situations, professing how the town “rips the bones from your back…we gotta get out while we’re young…” I gained a new appreciation for this album and its music, helping to better understand how Springsteen’s lyrics and music presented music as a kind of escape or salvation from many of the wrongs in the world. In particular, it was interesting to see how his band was interracial and evenly split between white and Black members, which at the time was not that common. Carlin notes, too, how this kind of integration was a part of the album’s photography and artwork for the cover, with Springsteen asking for Clarence Clemons to be on the cover with him.

Carlin’s book presents the challenges that Springsteen faced from his record label, especially since they were unwilling to front the money to record the album, which required Springsteen and his band to go out and tour to make money to pay for studio time just to record some singles to share with his label what the new record might sound like. Carlin’s book includes the perspective of Springsteen’s manager and first producer, Mike Appel, and how integral he was to supporting Springsteen’s early career. Throughout these financial challenges, Springsteen was able to maintain his band, although some members from the original band departed. This further delayed the ability to tour and record since the new members had to learn the music and adapt to the styles. Regardless, it was interesting to see these challenges and how Springsteen was able to maintain such a large band with many different members who obviously believed in him and his music.

Carlin’s research also delves into the lyrical content where readers learn about the car culture of Asbury Park, and how Springsteen’s experience with some racers led to some of the more famous lyrics from the album, as well as the imagery and symbolism of songs like “Jungleland” and “Tenth Avenue Freezeout.” I enjoyed learning about this aspect of the album, especially considering the time period and how Springsteen’s lyrics created unique characters who were battling not only for their lives, but also for their futures, challenging the inequality and barriers in society. However, my favorite aspect of the book focused on the recording process, where we learned about the studio challenges that Springsteen and the band faced when trying to capture the music and intensity of the live shows. It was fascinating to learn that Jimmy Iovine was one of the engineers for the album, and that Springsteen brought in Jon Landau, who at the time was an emerging music critic, to co-produce the album with Appel. In Carlin’s estimation, it seems like having the co-producers led to some disagreements and delays, but also heightened the quality of the recording since Appel and Landau had different perspectives on the music. It was also fascinating to think about how the technology of the time limited the ways the band could record their sound, and with a large band featuring not just traditional rock instruments, but also horns, it was a challenge to capture the various dynamics of these sounds on a limited amount of tracks. In assessing the recording sessions and highlighting some of the challenges from those sessions, Carlin seems to indicate that these limitations helped to shape different directions and versions of the songs, where Springsteen and the band were revising different parts of the songs, playing instruments differently to emphasize emotions and ideas from the songs. I loved reading about this creative process, and it was fascinating to learn about how the recording process and the limitations of technology influenced the ways the songs were shaped. In addition, Carlin presents the challenges of artists who want to maintain a vision, yet are also compelled to sell records through the typical process of creating radio-friendly pop music. It seemed like the two producers were in a constant struggle to manage both the artistic vision and the commercial appeal of the album that features some songs that run over 5 minutes.

One of the more surprising aspects of the book was Springsteen’s reaction to the initial pressing before the album was released. Despite encouragement from his co-producers and others at the record label, Springsteen seemed unhappy with this, and Carlin attributes these initial reactions to self-doubt largely from his father. It’s not a major theme of the book, but Springsteen’s complicated relationship with his parents, and his dad in particular, does come up a few times, and it seemed to play a hand in Springsteen’s personal questions about whether he was staying true to his vision or if he was making an album to just sell records. It was not something I expected to encounter considering Springsteen’s place in rock history. Nevertheless, it was interesting to see how he responded to the initial pressing, and how his band members, producers, and others who are close to him reassured him about this album. Much like Carlin’s R.E.M. book, Tonight in Jungleland highlights how musicians have to navigate the border between artistic integrity and commercial success; however, this book is primarily focused on the process and factors that led to the creation of an iconic album. I appreciated this detailed focus and Carlin’s meticulous research and interviews that help to flesh out this process. Highly recommended. 

An Oral History of Atlantis: Stories that Push the Boundaries of Creative Writing

 An Oral History of Atlantis: Stories by Ed Park

An Oral History of Atlantis book cover

Author Ed Park

Big thanks to Random House and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Ed Park’s incredible new short story collection An Oral History of Atlantis: Stories. I have heard of Ed Park, but haven’t read anything from him, although Same Bed Different Dreams is on my to-read list. I was surprised at how funny and absurd the stories in this collection are. I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, but I found the stories to all be strange and absurd and often presenting apt and humorous characterizations of elements of modern life, especially in areas of art, writing, and technology. Furthermore, these aren’t traditional, canonical type of short stories from the past, but rather I found them to be unique character studies where we find the characters engaged in a strange or complicated aspect of life. In addition, a few of the stories take narrative risks and present the story in unique formats, which I really enjoyed. Sometimes these approaches to stories can seem more like a novelty or decoration, but for Park’s stories and characters, they provide a unique framing device to capture the absurdity and humor in each event.

The collection starts off with “A Note to My Translator”, a brief letter from the fictional and pseudonymous  author Hans de Krap, who appears in another story. The basic premise of this story is that the translator has rewritten the book’s first chapter with “brazen, unnoted blunders”, which de Krap categorizes in 3 hilarious pages. It’s unclear whether this was a willful change or something is completely lost in translation, but the book, titled Mexican Fruitcake in E’s translation (not de Krap’s original title) features many strange changes that seem to go beyond language choices. Another selection with a kind of experimental approach to the story is “The Wife on Ambien”, which lists all of the ways the narrator’s wife differs on Ambien compared to when she does not take Ambien, and how this sleeping medication makes her a more productive, but also risk-taking woman. I also enjoyed “Machine City”, where the narrator, Joon, details his college experience appearing in an experimental improvisatory student film with an ex-girlfriend. Joon, who is taking a class in surrealism, is eventually introduced to Bethany Blanket, who ends up directing him and his ex-girlfriend Yuna, in a film. It seemed like this story was almost like a key in understanding how the other stories fit together, since many of the stories take a surrealist approach, where artists often “mentally stitch bits together into one exquisite thing. The coherence of incoherence.” Despite his prior relationship with Yuna and the strange break-up and sending her a 20 page letter, Bethany requires that they act like they are meeting for the first time for her film. The story is framed by the Joon’s current recollections of this time, searching for information about the film and Bethany’s career on IMDB. I loved the Nirvana references in the story, especially when Joon shares plays “Lithium” on headphones for Massimo, one of his friends. The dialogue and situations in this story are really funny to consider, and it just reminded me of reminiscing about those kind of absurd experiences from college. The story “The Air as Air” also features one of the recurring elements found in other stories, the town of Eucalyptus, and has some of the funny dialogue where words and phrases have double meanings. In the story, the narrator, who studies breathing techniques from a guy named Karl Ababa, meets with his father, who makes the narrator call him The Big Man. When they meet, they catch up on what they are up to, and The Big Man says

 “‘So you know about Uncle Buck,’ he said. ‘The movie?’ ‘What movie? I’m talking about your Uncle Buck. He went on that show where they give you a makeover. It was Lindy’s idea, the whole stupid TV thing. She has connections. You know Buck. He dresses worse than I do. He dresses like he smeared rubber cement on his chest and rolled around in a pile of undershirts. So they show the episode and it went a little too well, if you get my gist.’”

I found this to be really funny, and the entire meeting with his father was pretty humorous. Throughout many of the stories, there are similar examples of this kind of word play and punning that add to both the uniqueness and absurdity of the stories. “Seven Women” was fascinating in that details 7 women who are all connected to Hannah Hahn, an editor who created an obscure literary magazine whose rejection letters were sent on postcards where she retitled their submissions and edited the piece down to one sentence. It reminded me of the translator from the first story. These characters are all connected not only through their relationships, but also their proximity to Hannah. One of my favorite stories was “The Gift”, where the narrators writing a letter to his alumni magazine, sharing the experience as students in an experimental class known as “Advanced Aphorism”, which was never taught again. This was another story with incredible word play, but it also functions as a satire of higher education, as the professor, Dublinski, has unusual methods and inconsistent meeting times and places for the class. “Two Laptops” was also a humorous critique of modern technology, where the narrator’s wife leaves him and moves in with another woman in the same condo complex. His son, who wants to go by C-Love, also features in the story, and they try to find interests for him, from music lessons, to sports, and eventually computers. In this story, C-Love communicates with his dad via skype when he stays at his mom’s place, even though it’s in the same neighborhood. However, sometimes the connection goes “metallic, bits of it gray and bits of it green, and big chunks of the image fall out, so it looks like I’m seeing his skull.” C-Love also has trouble seeing his father. In another great story “Eat Pray Click”, the narrator also has trouble connecting with an old friend who has developed a way to manipulate kindle books to create innumerable iterations of the novel. When the narrator tries to connect with Rolph later, he experiences a similar disconnection through technology, wondering if Rolph was even where he said he was. Both characters in this story studied with Stoops, a professor in “Machine City” who teaches the Surrealism course and who founded a literary movement called Sensibilism and its antithesis, Mood Writing. I loved the interconnection between stories here, as well as the satire of literary criticism and technology. One of the last stories, “Slide to Unlock”, is also a kind of satire of passwords, where it presents various iterations of password formation, but is also critical of the kind of personal information that these passwords rely on. It’s similar to “The Wife on Ambien” in that it is something like a list, but it’s also a great critique of something that has become a feature of our modern lives.

I loved these stories, both the individual stories and the entirety of the collection. It was great to see interconnections among stories where ideas, concepts, places, and people overlapped and came up in different places (Hans de Krap appears in another story as well). Furthermore, the stories are really entertaining and humorous, offering some bizarre and absurd situations. Many of the stories feature word plays or subtle satire that allows readers to question these aspects of life. I will revisit these stories, and I feel like many of them would be fun to teach, to see how students would respond to them. I’m also wondering if these stories appealed to me because I’m closer in age to Park, or whether a younger generation might get some of the humor and satire in these stories. Regardless, I’m sure that these stories will challenge their ideas and conceptions of short stories, possibly broadening their perspectives. Although these stories may not be for everyone, I thoroughly enjoyed them and recognize that they help to extend the boundaries on ideas about creative writing and short stories in particular. I highly recommend this collection. 

Exploring Mistakes Without Regret in Rax King's Sloppy

 

Sloppy book cover

Author Rax King

Big thanks to Knopf, Pantheon, Vintage, and Anchor Books and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Rax King’s new collection of essays titled Sloppy Or: Doing It All Wrong. I haven’t read Tacky yet, King’s first collection of essays, but it’s on my to read list with its focus on pop culture as art. Sloppy also features some elements of pop culture, but is also incredibly personal and intimate. I was not only surprised by the candor and risks that some of these essays take but also moved and touched by King’s reflection on her past experiences, both good and bad, that brought her to sobriety and a reckoning of sorts with her father’s declining health and eventual death. Not all of the essays are deeply personal, but I found that those essays that focused on King’s own struggles with addiction, mental health, and her relationship with her parents were my favorites in this collection. For me, part of this was her ability to fearlessly reflect on her own mistakes, but also to look back on them with humor and acceptance, and not with regret or shame. This kind of perspective is important to keep in mind, and it leads to some important insights for King. I also think that having experienced similar situations with addiction, recovery, and caring for ailing parents, I felt like there was a lot I could relate to in her experiences, and reading about her perspective was relatable, but also fresh in many ways. King doesn’t seek out pity but rather looks to find meaning and strength in these experiences, often through humor and self-deprecation.

What stood out most to me was King’s own unique voice, of which humor definitely plays a part. Her essay “Proud Alcoholic Stock” relates to her experiences growing up with parents in recovery, and her struggles to understand her own relationship with alcohol and other substances. She discusses her parents’ relationship and their inability to relax in social situations where alcohol was present. As she notes, “Alcoholism is often genetic, which they knew, but as it turns out, so is obsessing about one’s alcoholism.” As someone who grew up in an alcoholic home, I agree that when these realizations occur, that obsession about alcoholism takes on strange perspectives and meanings. King goes on to discuss her observations of other parents who can drink normally and her own experiences with trying alcohol for the first time. I actually wondered if this essay was possibly part of her recovery, as she notes how her relationship with alcohol began and changed over time, eventually leading to her early experiences with sobriety, and how it also changed her relationships with others. She also discusses her father’s other addictions, particularly to tobacco, and how this led to his death. In the essay “Cough-Cough”, King discusses her father’s gradually worsening health and death in the hospital, and how cigarettes brought about this condition. Other essays like “Pants on Fire” and “Anger Management” deal with King’s father’s lying and his explosive temper, remnants of his addict life that never seemed to resolve themselves. “Anger Management” in particular struck a chord with me, as King details sharing burgers and shakes with her father when she was younger, yet the diners were never really able to get her father’s shake exactly right. She relates her own temper to her father’s, and how her ex-husband often liked to provoke her into anger, with one particular disturbing anecdote involving a pellet gun. Yet, it seems like sobriety and the divorce from her ex-husband has enabled King to take a new perspective and work towards avoiding “the life of a lonely volcano, punking magma on myself while the villagers flee” where her “rage is still there—less explosive, still corrosive.” I appreciated this since we don’t always see how these horrible experiences provide us with these useful insights and awareness. She finishes this essay about an instance caring for her father as he’s dying in the hospital, an experience that will cause all kinds of chaos and unanticipated emotional swings in anyone. Her father wants a cheeseburger and milkshake for one last time, despite not really being able or even allowed to eat this meal. One of the nurses caring for her father chastises King, reminding her that he couldn’t have this food in the hospital—it was against the rules and bad for his vitals. Yet, as the kid of a dying parent, she’s in a new role, caring for her father and wanting to comfort him in these final days. I remember when my dad was dying in the hospital, and we snuck in his dog for one last time. Even though it was brief and probably freaked out the dog, it was one of the last times I saw him smile. King’s essay was just a reminder about this complicated situation that no one can ever prepare for, and how it’s important to manage the intense emotions that are bubbling below.

Other essays were personal, but not always emotionally impactful. I appreciated “Ms. Girl Power” which explored King’s discovery and early understanding of feminism, as well as “The Temple of Feminine Perfection”, which details her experiences as a dancer in a club. Her reflections on the customers and other dancers were funny and descriptive. “Front of the House” was another great essay for anyone who has worked in a restaurant. It brought me back to the days of waiting tables, and why I don’t really miss that time at all. Other essays like “Some Notes Towards a Theory of an Old Dad” and “Hey Big Spender” discuss King’s own personality and its relationship or influence from her father and his idiosyncrasies. Overall, this is a solid collection from the unique voice of an important writer and cultural critic. While many of the essays look within and are reflective, there are important cultural and social insights to glean from King’s writing. Her essays in this collection are a wild ride through drinking and drugging, mental health challenges and treatment, recovery, and caring for sick and dying parents. This is a collection that offers both laughter and humor but also delves into deeper emotions like the sadness of depression and the struggles with anger management to the grief and guilt of losing a parent. I’ll definitely revisit some of these essays, and I could even imagine using some of them in a writing class to help students understand how to reflect on and make meaning from challenging experiences and situations. I’m looking forward to eventually reading Tacky and reading more of King’s future work.